Captain drabbles
by jwg676
Summary: The gotei thirteen captains and their secrets


Captain drabbles 

First

Yamamoto considered himself to be something of a father figure, sitting on his throne-like chair in the centre of the hall, smiling benignly at the ones he had chosen for his own. Handpicked out of hundreds of would be shinigami, they were the ones who carried out his will and therefore were the right hand of his authority. As such, he expected them to be able to come to him with their problems, their joys, their desires.

To date, he could never figure out why none of them ever did.

Second 

Soi Fon was held in fear- and awe- by her squad. She was the epitome of justice, and all who served under her knew how seriously she took that role. More than once they had heard her say that she would oppose all who opposed justice, no matter who the shinigami or whatever the reason, and no one had cause to doubt her. After all, it was Soi Fon who had single handedly restored the second division's strength after the embarrassing desertion by Shihouin Yoruichi so many decades ago. What no one could understand, and what no one ever spoke of, was if their captain was justice's enforcer, then why she had never brought the Shihouin princess to task for her crimes?

Third 

Ichimaru's perpetual smile hid a multitude of emotions. When he had first met Rangiku, his smile had covered up his pleasure at finding someone to manipulate. When Aizen had come to him with his plan to overthrow the delicate balance of shinigami society, his smile had covered up his repulsion of his co-captain- and had covered up his own plans, hidden carefully from sight. When the Menos Grande had cradled him in its arms, his smile had covered up his sadness at leaving Rangiku behind, for only then had he realised what she meant to him.

Fourth 

Unohana grieved. Not for herself, but for her squad, for the thousands of shinigami who had passed through her halls, many of whom had died there. She had been a healer for many, many centuries, and a shinigami for many more, and the lives she was unable to save hurt her more deeply than her serene countenance ever revealed. With each passing sunrise her sadness grew until she was afraid that it would eventually kill her.

Fifth 

Aizen knew what he was, and suffered not the slightest bit of remorse for it. When he had begun to lay out his plans to destroy Sereitei, he had still slept well knowing that he had chosen the three children who were to unwittingly aid him in his task. When he had plunged his zanpakutou into his lieutenant's stomach, he had smiled as he had done so because he knew that Hinamori Momo could not live without him, and therefore it was kinder to take her life himself than watch her die without him.

Sixth 

Kuchiki Byakuya was a noble, and the kenseikan and windflower scarf he wore never let him forget it. Emotions were supposed to be a waste of time, and he had been taught from a young age to hold himself aloof from his fellow shinigami so that he would never forget his duty to his house. It was only as he held Rukia in his arms, as he had felt the fire of the wound above his heart and the sting of Shinsou's blade across his hand, that he had come to realise how pitiable his upbringing had been.

Seventh 

Komamura had always hovered on the edge of truly living, had always skirted around the edges of society, knowing just how prejudiced people could be towards those who were different. His appearance, even in the quieter parts of Rukongai, had been cause for alarm, and hatred, until he eventually grew to fear the reflection he saw in the mirror every morning. The day he became a captain was the day he had slipped the mask over his head with shaking hands. It was not so much as to prevent his subordinates from being afraid of him but rather because he was afraid of them.

Eighth 

Kyouraku drank too much, and he knew it. His lieutenant complained regularly about it, and Ukitake worried frequently over his health, but what the latter knew and the former did not was that Shunsui drank to forget the lives he had taken, and the centuries that seemed to pass by him as quickly as the seasons turned. In the moments when Kyouraku was sober, he sometimes wondered if he was getting too old to do his job with any semblance of competency. Shunsui had to remain drunk because it was infinitely preferable to knowing that inside, he was no better than the hollows he destroyed.

Ninth 

Tousen was blind. He never complained about his handicap because as the centuries evolved, he had become convinced that the reason he was blind was in preparation of something that was far bigger than being able to see. Listening to Aizen whispering hypnotically of an alteration that would change not only their lives, but the balance between shinigami and hollows, Tousen finally understood what being blind meant- that he would never be able to see the destruction and chaos that would eventually carry him beyond the realm of mere immortality.

Tenth 

Hitsugaya Toushirou, it was rumoured, had a personality to match his zanpakutou – icy, ruthless, and indifferent when it came to his subordinates and fellow captains. No one envied Rangiku her position of being vice captain to the child prodigy, for Captain Hitsugaya's reputation preceded him, even though no one had seen any evidence of his icy nature. Word of the boy genius who had far exceeded expectations and had become the youngest captain in centuries spread, and Hitsugaya was feared far more than any other shinigami before him. Only Hyourinmaru knew of the depth of the emotions Hitsugaya felt whenever he looked at Hinamori, and whatever the wise old dragon knew, he certainly wasn't telling.

Eleventh 

Zaraki Kenpachi had been a man with no name. Alone, unacknowledged, desperate for something that did not mean more blood staining his hands, he had lived a warrior's existence, denying himself the rights of contact, of warmth, of humanity. When he had cradled Yachiru in his arms, he had felt the icy barrier around his heart shatter and he had vowed to live for Yachiru and Yachiru only. No one had ever looked at him with such unconditional love before.

Twelfth 

Mayuri knew how much his fellow captains loathed him. Zaraki was respected, Mayuri's presence merely tolerated. He never allowed this loathing to bother him, he believed that his work, his experiments, deserved better. It was not until he created Nemu and saw the depth of hatred in her eyes whenever she looked at him that he had begun to feel afraid. There was nothing worse than the sure knowledge that creations always turned on their creators. It was only a matter of time before Nemu realised this as well.

Thirteenth 

Ukitake Jyuushirou was not a well man. Despite the illness that had him fighting for breath and that sometimes left him ill for many weeks, he never bemoaned his fate, never complained that he was unable to do many things that his fellow shinigami took for granted. Ukitake had an iron will to live, and savoured every day as though it would be his last, as he had done since he was just a child.

Standing in the clearing, rain soaking into his hakama and haori and running in streams off his hair, Ukitake had watched Kaien die and for the first time had wished that his illness would take his life. Since that night, each time Ukitake was ill, his health was a little worse, the illness a little stronger. Ukitake wondered, in the moments between waking and sleeping, if he was ever going to be able to forgive himself for letting Kaien die.


End file.
